Whatever the Cost
by Sophie The Shipper
Summary: Amy has a panic attack. [Amy's POV] [One-Shot]


**Word Count:** _741_  
**Summary**: _Amy has a panic attack. [Amy's POV]_  
**Disclaimer**:_ I don't own Brooklyn Nine-Nine and never had a panic attack._

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I feel paralyzed. I can't move. I can't breathe. I feel like there's something in my throat that isn't allowing oxygen to reach my lungs. The world is getting dark as I struggle to breathe, and every amount of oxygen my throat allows to enter my system makes me alive for just a little while. Just enough time for someone to appear and save me, just enough time for someone to see me and hold me so that I can breathe.

And somehow those prayers were heard. The sound of that old door opening was never as satisfying as it was this time and if my breathing wasn't a problem, I would hold out a breath I so clearly didn't know I had.

I don't know when he got there. I don't know the time it was, I don't know how long I was there reaching out for air, however little it was. I don't know how long it passed since I got there either because the clock is faded and now I can't even see it. I feel warmth, and I feel safe. It takes a moment for me to understand what's going on. I hear a heartbeat, I feel some kind of soft fabric in my hand, I smell aftershave.

It takes me too long to understand the fabric I feel is part of his shirt, and that I'm probably hurting him since my hand also feels skin underneath that fabric. But no matter how badly I try to let go, my brain doesn't cooperate with my heart. But my throat is allowing oxygen to enter, and I no longer hyperventilating. The aftershave I smell is coming from the shirt I'm holding, and I realize he must have used that shirt while he shaved and let some of it into it. Knowing him, he was probably late and didn't care. He probably shaved whilst going to work, while sitting in the Brooklyn hectic morning traffic.

That heartbeat I hear is slowing down, and I notice then that he was probably worried. I didn't have the time to realize that seeing someone you love hugging her knees and not being able to breath must not be easy, but when you're in that position you don't get the time to realize things like that. You just want air.

Sometime later I feel his skin against me, and I realize he's holding me too tightly, but that's actually helping him. His strong arms are holding me steady, and I take a huge amount of air that makes him let go just a little bit to allow my body space to expand, but I want him to hold me like he was. But I appreciate that small space, for now, I can breath easier.

My hearing comes back later, and I can hear his soft words against my ear, telling me I was going to be okay, to just breath, not to worry about anything but my breathing. Until then all I could feel in my ears was warmth, and I realize then that the reason why was his words against my ear, making me feel better. His voice is sweet and caring, and I never want him to stop talking. Which is a first, because all he usually says is ridiculous and absurd, and I just want him to shut up – usually my weapon of choice are my lips.

When I can finally open my eyes and see things properly, when I can finally see the clock, the table, the floor, when nothing is faded no longer, I can't feel the warmth anymore. I panic for a moment, trying to search for that source of tender words, warm skin, and soft fabric. It takes me too long to remember why I was in that space in the first place, why I was hiding from the craziness in the bullpen, from the people not knowing what to do without the captain around, without their loveable prankster in his usual desk telling people something foolish. Without that father and son duo that made them laugh so much, cry so much, fight so much. That duo that was no longer there, but was missed so much.

And when the reason why I was there finally appears in that oxygenated brain of mine, I get up and wipe the tears that decided to fill my eyes, determined to have them back.

Whatever the cost.

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**The End**

Clearly, Jake and Holt are in Florida. Jake was not with Amy in the evidence room. She was there alone.

Now read this story thinking about them both like me. Both sitting on the floor, Amy's head on Jake's chest, his arms around her, her hand holding tightly his shirt and him saying something in her ear while rubbing small circles in her back. Now I cry.


End file.
